the search
by jarec
Summary: A malkavian goes soul searching
1. Chapter 1

As the sun sets, my eyes open. I've always been an early riser, up at the crack of dawn. THe only difference since my death is that now, I'm up at the crack of dusk. I like that, gives me a little more time.I try to see each night as a fresh set of possibilities, rather than another night of meaningless undeath.

Tonight, though, something feels different. Wrong, and badly so. Almost instinctively, my hands fly to my neck, feeling for it.

Gone.

Where is it?

WHERE IS IT?!  
WHERE'S MY FUCKING SOUL?!!!


	2. Chapter 2

Red begins to tinge my vision as the demon within me stirs. I force myself to calm down, taking a few deep (and totally unnecessary) breaths. Its always like this when I dont have my soul on me. The demon thatshares my body has more control, and I fly into a rage at the slightest provocation. Now I need to be calm, because finding my soul will take rational thinking and a cool head.

I review my memory of last night . Ok, think.I had it when I rose that night, I remember seing it in the mirror as I left my haven (a small apartment, rented by a guy who has no idea a vampire liives in his closet. Hiding skills plus mind control equal a free crash pad) and thinking it looked espescially pure that night. Then I headed to the movies, saw that new spy flick. I go to the movies at least once a week, even when I dont find anything interesting playing. Its a good way to stay modern and in-touch, so despite my 90 years of life and unlife, I don't seem anachronistic. I quite enjoyed the movie, almost made me wish I'd paid to get in. I remember making a mental note to find out what wi-fi meant.

I still had it when I met up with Nasty Jack outside the old trainyard. We finally capped off the Prank on that stuffy Ventrue LeVeaux. He's stayed in the same haven (an old brownstone house in mid-town), with the exact same décor, since his embrace… over two hundred years ago! The furniture is EXACTLY as it was when he was alive, in the EXACT same position, with the EXACT same lighting. A sign of what he would no doubt call 'continuity with my mortal life', but is just one old lick who's way to stuck in his ways. So, naturally me and nate pranked the motherfucker. For the last few months we've walked into the place while he's out on whatever the fuck old undead WASPS do at night, and rearranged the furniture. Nothing spectacular, move the couch to the other side of the room, shift the angle of the chairs just slightly, that kinda thing. Doesn't sound like much, but LeVeaux has been wigging the fuck out. He's tripled security (ghoul guards aren't much help againt the Invisible Mind-Controlling Decorators), installed all kinds of surveillance equipment (ditto), and even called in help from the Nosferatu (who owe Nate a big favor). Last night, though, we torched all his stuff. I mean ALL of it. Stripped the place down to bare boards, put it all in a BIG pile outside and torched it. That oughta do it.

After that, I swung by the red-light district for a little pay-as-you-go supper a.k.a. a hooker. Jack and the others laugh at me sometimes for paying for my meals, but what the hell I'm not hurting for money- an invisible pickpocket/burglar can make a nice living. Plus, I've never really liked hunting all that much, so this is a pretty damned fine way to get my blood. I do a quick scan with the Sight to make sure she hasn't got any sicknesses- last year a couple of Nosferatu got into big trouble with the Prince after it was proven that they'd been spreading AIDS to their victims. She seems clean- a nice healthy aura. $120 later, we're in my beat up old dodge caravan, heading for a rundown hotel in a now seedy part of town. A three-story red-brick building called The Sunshine Hotel.

The Southern Sunshine Hotel. Even now, the thought of the place raises a lump in my throat- metaphorically speaking. I know it well; I ought to, I used to run it back when I was alive. I loved that place from the moment I first entered the front door. It had class, style, and history, all the things I longed for in my own life. As manager, I helped make sure the Sunshine Hotel was not only a respected place, but the 'the place to be' (or one of em) for the city's elite. Hell, I found out later that the hotel lounge had been Elysium for ten years of my tenure as manager. I poured my soul into running that place, even took my 'vacations' there. No joke. I would sign out one day, and come back the next in casual clothes, another guest of my hotel. I remember how many job offers I would get, from hotels far more glamorous than my Sunshine. Espescially in the post-war years (the first war, not the second; I was already dead by the Fifties), when everyone seemed to have money to travel, the big hotels were on the lookout for qualified and dedicated managers. But I laughed at them; it was like being hit on by a hooker when you're out with your one true love.

Nothing has hurt me more in all the years since my Embrace than watching my Sunshine deteriorate. I guess my 'disappearance' was probably the first blow. After so long, I'd become the symbol for the hotel, both among the staff and the more regular patrons. The guests knew that so long as I was there, the Sunshine Hotel would represent a high standard of quality and service. The staff knew that so long as I was manager, it didn't matter who owned the hotel, they'd always be treated fairly and kindly (so long as they did their jobs). So, when I vanished one night without a trace, morale suffered.

A string of new managers followed, each with his own style. None worked well, and the place began to suffer. By the 60's, it'd become a cheap motel. By the 80's, it was a sleazy motel, the place you go to sleep it off or to get it on.

I remember, now, how it still struck me when I walked in last night. The once bright and immaculate lobby has become dingy and filthy. The tasteful furniture is still there (patent leather couches ordered shortly before my departure), but its been more than sixty years since then, and they're showing their age. Me and the whore- Jocasta, that was her name, where the hell do they get those names?- walked up to the counter. When I'd been there, it had been a gleaming slab of veined faux-stone (we had the real stuff on order but I never saw it delivered), and woe betide the clerk who left so much as a speck of dust on it. Now? The stone's gone, replaced by some unidentifiable artificial substance which resembles wood the way piss resembles gold.

Jocasta rang the bell for a clerk- never necessary when I was there- and after fully a minute and thirty five seconds (I timed him). He was everything I expected; dirty, underdressed, distracted and rude.  
"So" he said, in a voice that was high and nasal "you two (snort) LOVEBIRDS want a room, do ya? Sign here, or just make an X if yer own names is too hard for ya"

I fought down the urge to bash his head open with the registry book, instead signing my name. As I do I glance down the page. Once upon a time, my hotel registry book had been filled with the names of hundreds of guests each month. Many had used the comment section to praise the finely run, beautiful hotel. I still remember one old couple from my last year at the Sunshine, who wrote "we came here for our wedding night and every anniversary we could come. Its one of the few things we've found that improved with age"  
No such sentiments here. Instead, I see perhaps half a dozen names, such as the estimable Seymour Buttz, Dame Candi Appel, and the Honorable Bigg Wanz. Truly, a distinguished clientele indeed.

We climb the stairs (the elevator is, of course, broken) to our room. MY room, since I use it every time I come here. The clerk doesn't notice- for one thing he doesn't pay any attention to his guests (big surprise there) and for another, even if he did he'd see a different face each time.  
I choose this room because it's the first room I ever took at the Sunshine, all those decades ago, when I was just a country hick visiting the city. Which makes its current condition all the more poignant.

The windows are boarded up with plywood (I remember how everyone- me included- loved the view). The walls, once a rich red, are now a faded gray, with many holes and cracks. Light comes from a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The rooms furnishings consist of a bed, a small table and a tv which was already showing porn when we opened the door.

It was all too much, I wanted to feed and get out of there. I tore into the hapless hookers throat with a savagery that surprised me. Normally I try to make feeding as pleasant an experience as possible for both me and her, but last night I just wanted the blood. I remember tasting something funny in her and then…

And then…

…I woke up. Here. Still in the room. Sans my soul.

FUCK!!


	3. Chapter 3

Red doesn't so much tinge my vision as FLOOD it. The whole world becomes a maddened, swirling red haze. The demon that's haunted me ever since I died leaps to the fore, howling its fury and venting its anger on anything and everything it can reach. I fight to regain control and succeed after a few (seconds?minutes?hours?) of struggle.

Once again, I become aware of my surroundings. I'm in the hallway, in front of the stairwell. The walls have claw marks on them, and looking back I can see the door to my room has been torn clear off the hinges. The door now lies on the hallway floor, and its obviously been scratched up too. I duck my head into the room and give a low whistle.

Wow.

In just under ( I glance at my wrist watch) five minutes I turned a serviceable if bare room into ground zero. The TV's wrecked, the screen shattered and spitting sparks all over the place as it gamely attempts to show me the rest of _Bride of Frankenschlong_. The walls haven't just been scratched, there're fist shaped holes in them. The windows are no longer boarded up; apparently I'd decided to let a bit of light in by throwing the bedside table through them. The bed itself is little more than a pile of stuffing, with a lot more stuffing strewn about the room.

Well, this is just gonna be a joy to cover up. Still, gotta do it or Prince Beatrice will have me dusting the next sunrise.I take a moment to think, then stride confidently outside. First I trash the room even FURTHER, tearing off wallpaper to hide the claw marks. Then I do the same in the hall.

Next, I close my eyes and open my mind, in that special way we Malks are best at. Only one other guy on the floor, and his thoughts are fried. I nip into his room to double check (lockpicking's a handy little skill no Kindred should do without). Yep, just as I thought. The poor SOB is on the floor going through a REALLY bad trip, or whatever they call it these days. He's thrashing, moaning, and sometimes screaming, all the while looking wildly around the room.

In act of mercy, I grab his head and gaze into his diluted eyes. "Have. Pleasant. Dreams." I order him, and no sooner to I say it then his face transforms. His eyes lose that panicked look, his body stops twitching and a (I'll be honest here) beautiful smile crosses his face. I know, instinctively, that because of me this kid's having a mindblowing tour of Innerspace. I nod, and leave the room. The guy'll put whatever he heard down to a narcotic fuelled hallucination, and even if he doesn't who'll believe him?

I walk downstairs, reflecting that sometimes it really can feel good to do good. I feel warm and fuzzy, and significantly more hopeful. If I can still do and feel things like that, then my soul probably isnt all that far away yet. I don't know what its 'range' is, but I don't guess it to be much, since its such a small thing.

I reach the lobby just as that pathetic excuse for a clerk shows up. He starts yelling about noise and about what he's going to do to me if there's so much as a single dent in the wall. I listen with amusement for about half a minute, then act. I pump blood into my muscles, and yank the ugly bastard clear across the table. He's gotta be a hundred and eighty pounds easy, and I look like a slim gentleman in my early forties, so he's a tad… nonplussed by my sudden show of force. I pull him up further, so I'm looking into his eyes.

"SHUT. UP." I command him "here is what happened. The couple you checked in earlier tonight were NOT a man and a woman. Rather, they were two men, and you will alter the records accordingly. You are unsure of just what they looked like though you think one of them was Asian, and the other was quite skinny. You believe they were thieves or criminals who had some sort of argument in the room, and the ensuing fight destroyed the room. One escaped through the window, while the other ran out the front door three minutes ago. In five minutes, you will call the police."

Well, that's the Masquerade preserved, but now for my own personal satisfaction. "You will look upon this as a warning sign. Are you the owner of this hotel?" He nods. I'm pleased, but not surprised. Somehow, the slob seems just the type of owner who'd let a once-fine establishment go to pot. "Good. Then you will begin to wonder if such a sleazy hotel isn't a magnet for these types of problems. In six months, you will begin to improve the hotel, bringing it to a higher standard. You will make repairs, improve the furniture, and for Gods sake start dressing properly. If you need money you will seek out the Happy Homeowner Loan Company, but not until seven months from now. They will offer you a generous loan, in exchange for partial ownership. You will accept."

I release him, both his body and his mind. Phew! That was a lot of mindwork, and most Kindred wouldn't be up to it, but I'm not most Kindred. I never caught the infection that allowed other Malks to spread our insight, but I make do with good old-fashioned mind control. Now,I've got seven months to start up the Happy Homeowner Company, so I can take back my Sunshine. Fortunately, I've got a sizeable bit of cash (an invisible burglar who pays no rent and doesn't buy food can save up quite a bit), and some favors owed me by the local Bluebloods. Just hope LeVeaux doesn't fuck it up for me… selfish prick…

I step out onto the street. All that can wait until AFTER I've got my soul. I close my eyes again, but this time I open my NOSE. The bitch wore a weird perfume, not really common… ah, there it is. I manage to pick up her trail from the mingled scents and stenches which float (or ooze) around the area. It's a pretty faint trail, she'd left about eight hours ago I'd guess. Must've taken a lot of her blood before I passed out. Normally I'd feel bad about that, since I try to never take too much. I hate accidentally killing, espescially some poor girl who's only real crime is being unlucky or stupid. Still, in this case, it means her trail's that much easier to follow. And when I get a hold of that thieving slut, there's not going to be anything accidental about her demise.

I follow it downtown, to a shabby apartment complex. A filthy, concrete cube with small, broken windows and cracks in the walls.Its pretty obvious (and sad) that this is where the thieving bitch lives. Not only is her scent all over, but I find a penny on the ground. I pick it up, concentrate, and discover that she dropped it not too long ago.

I'm close. And getting closer.


End file.
